


The Taste of Salt

by Serai



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Exponential Angst, Longing, Love, Loyalty, M/M, Pain, Sadness, Secrets, Sex, Slash, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serai/pseuds/Serai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo comes to a realization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Salt

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hobbit Smut "Hold Me, Heal Me" challenge.

.  


The nib of my pen scratches like a live thing, scrabbling in tiny licks against the fine vellum. I write until the ink begins to stretch thin. Then, with a measured care, I dip the quill into my ink pot, watching through the thick green glass as it sucks up just the right amount, before pulling it out and resuming the word interrupted. It's a measured little dance, one which I've refined over many years of writing, of being a conduit for the voices of Elves, or, on a few tentative occasions, my own. They have always been a pleasure, these careful steps that lead me outside of time. How often I've looked up from the page only when the light has grown so dim that the work is no longer possible. 

But there are also times when writing becomes a refuge, a way of hiding from a thing I cannot bear. The slow movements give me something to think on, and a way to still a heart that wants to race, cool a brow that wants to burn. Every now and then I blink rapidly, because I must keep my vision clear if I wish to finish this word, this paragraph, this page. And stains on the page will not do.

On such a day, there comes a moment when my breath will not stay calm, and my eyes against my will threaten to overflow. And then I must put down my quill, quickly, so that no ink will spot the words already finished. These are not words I wish to write more than once; this is not a story I wish to repeat.

Will it leave me, I wonder? Once the tale is told, written letter by painstaking letter in my uncle's precious leather book, will the ghosts disperse? Will my heart relinquish its sorrow, on which it has nourished itself to the despair of all the rest of me? Will I finally be able to draw a breath to the limit of my lungs, or will this chill embrace, this vague fever, still possess me? Will I live under this cloud of tears, against which my only defense is a slow silence, until the end of my days? Will my life depend upon a dead heart?

Through the round window, I watch the wind rippling through the grass of the Lower Field, shimmering in the light which is suddenly too bright for my eyes. If I'd plans to go out today, now I cannot countenance the idea of stepping into that flood of brilliance, for I feel I would burn, unable to think or move. No, best I stay here, inside, where it is cool, and I am safe.

The silence stretches around me, and the hallways and rooms of the empty smial are like a network of caves. Almost I can hear, if I listen closely, the drip of water against limestone, and smell the wet tunnels where blind things hide. I tremble, close to knowing, close once again to that line I might have crossed. The light fades, and I am again in that darkness chill and foul, lost. 

Only the sound of the front door opening, far away in the world of real things, startles me back to daylight and faint birdsong. I look down and see that, while I wandered in my half-dream, I'd taken a loose sheet of paper and put pen to paper once again.

_Man nâ ha ned nin_

My brow furrows - I can feel it - as I translate the words in my mind. _What is it in me..._ For a moment I feel weightless, as if suspended over a precipice, as if about to fall. But the weight of a broad warm hand on my shoulder steadies me. 

_Sam_.

 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sam asks as he sits across the table, his brows creased with worry. I sigh, and cup the mug of steaming tea in my hands, trying to draw some warmth into my fingers, which always seem cold these days. Sam's eyes are the only place I can find any semblance of true warmth now. They never stint on it, shining even when he gazes on me with such concern. _Sweet Sam. Will you ever tire of saving me?_

"Yes, Sam," I answer, trying to sound cheerful and probably failing. I reach out to stroke the skin between his brows with my thumb, bringing a laugh to his lips. He takes my hand, placing a quick kiss in my palm. I swallow, and smile for him. "So you mustn't worry."

"Well, you gave me a turn in there, you did," he answers me. I look down into my tea at that. How close he came to seeing me so. The thought of him finding out frightens me. And yet, he will. He's my Sam, after all. I look up at him again.

"Will you stay for supper?" I ask. He looks into my eyes, searching. He sees it isn't really a change of subject, and the smile on his lips turns sad. I feel something inside me twisting slowly. Perhaps it's only my heart.

"Aye," he says, and his voice isn’t sad at all. "I'll just let Rosie know where I'll be." He touches my face, fingers stroking my jaw. The cold inside me grows deeper, as though stubbornly refusing to be moved. I nod, covering his hand with mine, and Sam stands up.

But somehow, I can't let go of him yet, even though I know he'll be back soon. Cursing myself for the fear that grips me, the feeling of being watched, hunted, I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him close. His embrace is firm but brief, then he draws away.

"I'll be back right soon," he whispers, and leans down to kiss my forehead. The touch lingers; I close my eyes as he turns and walks out of the kitchen. I hear the door close, then the silence returns.

 

But it's nigh onto sunset before he comes back. I've spent the hours since that kiss pacing aimlessly in the hall, trying again to write, then finally curling up in my armchair by the fire. Even its cheerful crackling cannot warm my flesh, half trapped in darkness. _Sam_ , I think wretchedly, and wonder how long this can go on. 

It isn't fair to him, my emptiness and fatigue pulling at him, demanding attention he should be giving to his wife and faunts. Slowly my thoughts spiral downwards, and I slide once again into that cave, feeling the dank creeping into my very bones. There is nothing, no one, and my loneliness chokes me, swelling in my throat to a great ball of pain. When Sam finally returns, it is all I can do not to cry out and leap into his arms. Instead, I manage a rueful smile when he gazes down at me.

"I tried to nap," I lie, when I can manage to speak. He doesn't believe me, but forbears to argue.

"Might have been easier if you'd covered up. You must be cold," he answers, reaching out a hand and pulling me to my feet. For a moment, we only stand close together, as he squeezes my hand. Then he pulls me into his arms, and I sigh, feeling his warmth, wanting so to be warm, too.

"Sam," I murmur. His face pressed against my neck, he takes a deep breath and lets it out, a bit shakier than when it went in.

"Come on," he says at after a moment, pulling back and smiling. "I'll make you supper tonight." 

 

Supper is done, the dishes cleared away. Sam has banked the fire in the kitchen and gone to light the rest of the smial. As I wait for him in the parlor, I watch the flames on the hearth and think of Gandalf. I wonder where he is. Will I ever see him again? Sometimes I hear his voice in my head, almost as if he were in the same room with me. Gruff he was, my old friend. I wonder what he would say if he could see me now. Would he chide me for being so weak? Or console me that at least it's not constant. I have good days too, after all. The bad are not the main. _Use well the days, Frodo_ , he would doubtless tell me.

"I'm trying, my friend," I whisper to the darkness, and feel it recede just a little.

 

Sam's arms are a refuge, locking around me as I lean back into him. The fire sings its sharp little song. Sam hums along with it, stroking my hair as if he were gentling a child. I find it soothing, but a little annoying, and I take his hand in mine, growling.

"What, now?" he asks in surprise. I chuckle, and turn my head to look him in the eye.

"I'm well enough, Sam. You needn't break out the possets just yet," I tease. His eyes crinkle with laughter.

"You don't feel it. You're near freezing." He puts a hand to my cheek. "How can you say you're not cold?"

"I didn't say," I answer him. "But you're here now. You'll keep me warm." His lips are inviting, soft as they open, and in quick movement, he captures mine. He bites my lower lip, growling himself as I turn in his arms.

Oh yes. Sam is sturdy, the very figure of a perfect hobbit, round and strong. I press against him, hugging him tight and feeling him wrap around me. _Dear Sam, don't ever let me go_ , I think, and on the heels of that thought comes another one, _Selfish fool_. But I pay it no mind. Sam is here now. That's all that matters. 

The warmth of his embrace holds me steady, and its strength makes me feel safe. The shadows retreat when he holds me. I try to prolong the moment, but soon enough the kiss deepens and heats. I sigh, telling myself as always that it's only fair. He gives me what I need, he's given me so much more. He should have what he wants of me. 

His hands are moving on my back, stroking slowly over me, down to my hip. I smile into his mouth as his tongue brushes against me. Catching it with my teeth, I pull it into my mouth. He takes a sharp breath in and grips my waist hard as I start to suck on his tongue, and his hips buck languidly against me. I break the kiss, giving his lips a quick lick.

"Come on," I whisper, and take him by the hand.

 

The headboard of my bed is carved with leaves and flowers, twining in sensuous patterns. I feel the edges of the figures engraving themselves into my naked back as I grip its edges. Sam presses me against the wood, his skin hot and slick with sweat as he kisses me. He holds my head in his hands as his tongue probes my mouth, then slides down over my jaw and neck. I gasp as I feel his teeth sliding over my skin, and he pushes into my belly, groaning. He's very hard now, and I take him in hand to feel the droplets emerging at the tip. 

Sam cries out as I grip him. "Frodo,' he moans, and his voice makes my name into something that burrows through me, causing a fluttering deep inside me. _Oh…_ I feel a stirring, and think perhaps this time will be different. The feeling must show, because his eyes widen as he looks at me, and I know it's time. _Now_. I pull him close again and take his mouth to mine. He slides his arms around me and lays me down onto the bed.

His hands move over me, callused hands strong from a life of working soil and wood. He's not gentle, for he knows from experience that past a certain point, I can no longer feel a gentle touch. His palms press in against my skin and his fingers dig into my flesh. Gripping my thighs, he pulls them apart and pushes them up, spreading me open. I feel his hands between my legs and I stop him, taking his wrist in my hand. "It's all right," I tell him.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his eyes caught between his constant love and the lust that barely lets him pause long enough to ask. I nod, pulling his hand to my face to kiss his fingers. I draw them into my mouth, sucking and licking, and he moans again, his cock twitching hard as he closes his eyes. I smile as I work his fingers, knowing how I affect him and loving it. Finally he snatches his hand away with a growl, and pushes his wet fingers into me.

My breath explodes out of me, and I bear down, opening up to the feeling. The fluttering in my belly becomes a tightening, and I concentrate, closing my eyes and turning my head away. Now comes the hardest moment, and I tremble as I wait for it. Sam pulls his hand away to prepare himself, slicking his cock with the salve I keep by my bed, and I breathe deep, waiting. Then his hand is back, his fingers sliding in again, spreading me open. I pant, my breath coming high and fast, and he takes the gasps as excitement. 

There. The head of his cock presses against me, into me, and I open up, willing my body to stillness even as I reach up to grip the edge of the headboard, arching my back. I can feel the heat from his flesh scant inches from my belly and chest as he leans over me, and I moan as he pushes deeper. He murmurs to me, _yes_ and _so good_ and _me dear_ , and I can only give him tiny cries, as my voice breaks through my control. Then he starts to thrust, and I steel myself to endure, knowing it'll ease, in moments it'll get easier.

And it does. The pain fades and becomes a thick feeling of fullness, and I relax a little, letting go of the headboard and wrapping my arms around Sam's neck. He gives a cry, almost a sob, and hooks his arm under my knee, pulling me even farther up to thrust deeper. The change brings a different contact, and I feel my flesh responding at last, hardening slowly. I wince as the heat rises, pulling me away from my lover, away from Sam and back into the darkness.

 _No_ , I cry feebly in my head. _Leave me be. I want to stay with him_. But the pull is too strong, and it beckons me. I know Sam wants me to come, wants me to feel pleasure. And I want to, for him. His mouth is on my upper arm, and I feel it kissing and sucking my skin. Sweat drips from his chin and neck onto my face, into my open mouth, and I taste it, bright salt on my tongue. His moans echo in my ears, and I want to weep with the pain of it, the frustration. Why can't I feel what he feels? Why won't my body respond to his, but only to this darkness, and the memory -

 _Oh help me, please_ , I beg, though I know not to whom, as my flesh rises and I moan, the fire taking me slowly in its grasp. _Don't let me be taken. Not again_. 

Sam's heat reaches me, and I feel him cresting inside me. A little more, a little more. His thrusts come faster, and his voice grows louder. Soon, now.

And soon it comes. He tightens, his thrusts lengthen and then one last hard slam. I open my eyes to look into his.

_Fill me, my love. Fill me with your sunlight._

He shakes, and then his voice breaks hard and loud, and dimly I feel a spread of warmth inside me. He shudders, and his head drops as he relaxes onto me. I hold him, my sweet lover, shaking as I wait for him to come down. Perhaps he'll sleep now. 

But after a moment, he rouses, looking up into my face. He smiles at me, and not for the first time, I wonder what he sees in my eyes. Does he know? But he gives me no time to dwell on it, for he lunges up and kisses me. I moan as his tongue pushes into my mouth, and his hand slides down my belly to grip and squeeze my still hard cock. I whimper as he starts to stroke, and pull my mouth away from his.

"Sam," I gasp, reaching down to still his hand. "You don't have to, really." I pray he hears my fear, but I can't bear to say him no outright.

"Now, how can you say that to me?" he purrs, kissing my lips tenderly. "Do you think I could be so selfish as to leave you in such a state?" His fingers slide down to stroke my sac, following the seam back to the root of my cock, where he presses his fingertips and makes me thrust into his hand. I tremble, and all my resolve crumbles as he licks my neck and starts to kiss his way down my chest.

I close my eyes. "Oh Sam," I sigh, and the pain swells in my throat again as I fight off tears. But he'll have his way, and how can I refuse him? So I close my eyes again, and the sensation of his lips and tongue at my nipples is distant, only an echo of what it once was. I'll not come off that way, and for his sake I turn back towards the dark. As his mouth wends down my belly, heat rises in me, and a vision of fire stokes my flesh. And I remember -

Sam's face, stained with dirt and ash and blood, and the roaring in my ears, all the shrieking voices of the Mountain. Fire that welled up in the air, in my very blood. I arch my back higher, barely feeling the slide of wetness as my cock is engulfed in a loving mouth. The memory is what thrills me, power rising up through the tortured earth to scream through me, and the little band of gold in my hand, singing its love song to my soul. _Yes, my darling_ , my soul sang back, as I cradled my love in my hand. Far away, my fingers grip Sam's hair as he sucks me, and here, right _here_ , I can once more feel the harsh and brilliant burn approaching, calling me, pulling me closer. I rise higher, every part of me reaching for that perfect heat. Dimly I am aware of my hips thrusting, of Sam's tongue and mouth sliding over me, taking me in as far I can go. I reach up, slamming my hands against the wood above my head, as in my mind I see his face crumbling into tears, opening his mouth to scream as I smile, and I cry out, thrusting hard as the Ring slides onto my finger and the Mountain explodes inside my soul.

 

"Frodo, Frodo…" A voice is calling me, from somewhere outside the darkness. A soft voice, interspersed with a warm, wet feeling, a sliding touch. It's a kiss, I realize slowly, as I rise up through the layers of mist back to dim firelight and the scent of my bed. Sam's scent and mine mingled. Then I feel his arms around me, and hear him repeating my name as he kisses me, and I remember where I am. For a moment, I nestle in his arms, smiling into his mouth, so warm in his embrace. 

"Mmm," I murmur, kissing back. He sighs against me, and hugs me close.

"Another turn you gave me there, love," he whispers, and I tense, fearful. But he continues, and I relax at his words. "Thought for a moment you'd burst yourself and dropped dead in my arms." 

"Well, I did come close," I aver. He chuckles. 

"Aye, so it seems." He nuzzles my neck and stifles a yawn. "Ah, me dear," he whispers, and as he kisses me again, slow and sleepy, I taste a ghost of bitter salt on his tongue, the trace of my passing. He slips away into sleep then, murmuring as he goes, "You needn't try so hard..." The weight of sleep is heavy on me and pulls me down along with him, as I wonder at his words.

 

Dawn is breaking, and the faint light fills the room as I wake. Lying still, I watch the light growing in the window, illuminating the bed and laying its soft glow along Sam's warm golden back. I look at him, the sight filling me so that tears begin to rise. Love I feel, oh yes. But welling up beneath the love is guilt and even more so, shame. _Oh Sam_ , I think mournfully. This isn't right, any of it. He deserves better than this, and he has it. I can't keep pulling him away from the life he ought to have, deceiving him as I am. 

_Does he know?_ I wonder again. He's always understood me, too well sometimes. For all I know, he's read this in me since that day we rode past Weathertop, the day the darkness came down on me again. I pray it isn't so - I couldn't bear it if it were. 

No, not my Sam. If I can't give him what he desires, freely, if I have to lie to get what I need, then I don't deserve him. I don't deserve his kind and loving heart. Whatever wounds I carry, I know he cannot heal them, though I also know he would never stop trying. I take a long breath in and let it out, shuddering, and with it my grip on the dream of Sam's magic over me. My healing is not here. I know that now. It's time to let go.

My hand reaches out and strokes his back, gently. I move to pull myself up along his back, feeling his sweet solid warmth beneath me. He sighs in his sleep and smiles, and I kiss his hair, lightly, so as not to waken him from his good dreaming.

 

 

"Oh Sam," I breathe softly. "I release you, my love." Folding my arms around my sleeping lover, I look out my window at the dawn light rising through the autumn trees, and in my heart I long for the rush and fall of waves, a sound I've heard only in my dreams, and the clear taste of salt on my tongue.

.


End file.
